Sometimes judges and lawyers advise people, that have a quarrel, to
settle their case outside of court. When a person thus decides between
two, who are not agreed, we say that they are judicially minded. Now
there was once, in Switzerland, an avalanche, that did what peacemakers
and honest judges could not accomplish. So it was called the Judicial
Avalanche.
Now, in the path of this avalanche, as it began to roll, was a rounded
rock, called the Pagoda Curve. This was because it had a turn up and
backward, like a sleigh runner. At a distance, it looked like one of
the roofs, which they build in Peking, Soochow, and other Chinese
cities. Once in a while, the ladies of the village on the slope below
held tea parties on it, drinking out of egg shell china cups. Then the
maidens pretended they had little feet, and ate candied ginger, and
stuck pear blossoms in their hair. On their part, the boys wore
pigtails of horsehair, behind their caps and shot off fire crackers, to
make believe they were Chinese mandarins of the old style.
One summer’s day, this tremendous avalanche came rolling and thundering
down the mountain side, and Pagoda Curve was directly in its path. When
it struck this rounded rock, there was not enough of the bulge or
re-curve, to stop the avalanche, but only to give an upward joust, or
bounce, toward the sky. Then the big ball which, for a moment, was
poised high in air, hung directly over the houses, five hundred feet
below.
This dorf, or village, had a name, which, in English, means Tell’s
Apple. Most of the houses stood on a flat place, among the mountains
which rose round about it, like sentinels in ice-armor. The people who
built it, long ago, were great admirers of the famous archer, who shot
the apple off his little son’s head. The place where they kept the pig
pens was named Gessler, after the cruel governor.
Now in this place, and just at this time, there was a very ugly and
dilapidated old house of worship, which had been erected several
hundred years before, and was now almost ready to tumble to pieces.
For a long time, the question, of tearing down the old church and
erecting in its place a new one, in modern style, had so vexed the
community, that a disgraceful squabble had broken out. The people of
one party would not speak to, or have anything to do with, those of the
other way of thinking; and all on account of this old building. The
young people were hot for a new edifice. They hoped to get an architect
from Zurich, who had gone from their village, and had his plans all
ready, which the young ladies all said were “just lovely.”
Against these, the old folks held to the idea of keeping the holy house
yet a while longer. The aged people were especially anxious that the
venerable tower should not be touched, but be kept; and they even
wanted to give it a new coat of paint, for which, of course, the
younger party would not vote.
On this very afternoon, the choir had gathered to practice to sing the
hymns for Sunday. The organist had put his foot on the pedals and
struck the keys, and the soprano had just opened her mouth, when down
thundered the avalanche!
This was far worse, than when a June bug had once flown into her
mouth—as had happened on a Sunday night, a few weeks before. She
stopped and the tenor’s face turned white, as if the crack of doom had
been heard.
The sexton was outside, sitting on the steps smoking his pipe, when a
lump of ice knocked the pipe out of his mouth, scattering fire and
tobacco, down into his vest bosom and over his best trousers. Then
followed a crash, as stone and brick, and the lightning rod, fell on
the paving stones of the street.
All thought the world had come to an end, but when they lifted up their
eyes to note the damage, they all declared that this was the most
obliging and considerate avalanche, that had ever visited that region.
It simply knocked over the old tower, and enough of the church walls to
compel rebuilding.
The mighty mass rolled past one corner of the village, upsetting a
farmer’s barn, but doing no further hurt or damage, except to a
bob-tailed cat of vicious character.
This animal had fought with many dogs, and one, that it had scratched
pretty badly, had bitten off its tail, so short, that even a rabbit
would be ashamed of the measly tuft, left on the end, for, only what
looked like a furry plug was visible.
Now this old puss, known as “Stumpy,” was just that minute about to
sneak up to a bird box, in which were four very hungry little birdies.
The mother bird was out, seeking worms for her little folks’ dinner.
Stumpy was just about to thrust in one of its front paws, through the
little round hole, in the bird box, hoping to claw and drag out the
four squabs, one by one, and eat them all up; when down came the edge
of the avalanche, like ten billion of bricks. It just grazed the bird
box, without doing any harm, or hurting the young ones inside, but it
flattened out that puss, so that it crawled away alive, but limping,
and meowing most piteously, and with one ear ground off by a bit of
sharp ice. The mother bird, returning at this moment, seeing the cat,
danced around and chirped out what sounded like the Japanese “aru beki”
(served you right).
The avalanche was last seen, when rolling down the valley in the
direction of the vineyards, apparently with the fell purpose of
overwhelming them all in one common ruin. But, on its way, it struck
again, right in the face, of an outjutting rock, on the side of a
mountain, which made it roll around in another direction.
As for the church question, that was settled. There must be a new
building and there was one soon, which, when finished, toned up the
whole dorf. At a later meeting, one frivolous youth proposed a
resolution of thanks to the avalanche, but this was voted down. Then
the pertinacious fellow brought in a proposition to give thanks for the
special Providence, that had opened the way to peace in the church.
This was carried by a majority vote, all the young people being on the
affirmative side.
The way that judicial avalanche behaved, was a scandal among the Frost
Giants. The old style had been to toss donkeys, and their drivers, down
within glacier crevices, into cold storage, a thousand feet deep; to
crush houses, kill cattle, and bury more people in one day than the
undertakers could put into coffins in a month. Besides this, old
fashioned avalanches used to lay waste orchards, and fruitful fields,
and spoil vineyards.
The conduct of this avalanche, which seemed bent on settling quarrels,
was more like that of a nun, a monk, a parson, or an old grandmother.
It happened to be about the time that the great Napoleon was upsetting
the world like a political avalanche, and the Empress Josephine was
covering up the red arms of peasant girls, now wives of generals, with
long white kid gloves reaching up to the arm pits.
Now, in a certain house in the dorf, an old fashioned mother was
scolding her frivolous young daughter, named Angelette, for aping Paris
and Napoleonic fashions. She remarked that things had come to a pretty
pass, when a young snip of a girl needed the leather of a whole goat to
clothe her arms. Daddy had also joined in the conversation, but only to
lose his temper. In his gestures, the cover of his pipe dropped off,
spilling the hot ashes all over his daughter’s low-necked frock. The
sparks made her jump, besides reddening the skin of her neck, even more
than her arms.
The girl Angelette was dressing for the evening dance, on the green,
and was quite put out by the accident. In fact, the old man had seized
the tip of Angelette’s middle finger of her glove and had pulled off
the half yard or more of white kid, when the avalanche flew past. It
flung a bit of rock, like the bolt of a catapult, right through the
window, sending the glove, all muddy and torn, out of the other.
Thinking his last day had come, the old daddy fell on his knees to
pray, but he was quickly awakened to his senses, by hearing a regular
concert in the barn yard. Outside, the donkeys were braying, the horses
neighing, the roosters crowing, the geese cackling, the hens clucking,
and the dogs barking—and all in joy. As for the old billy goat, he
stood up on his hind legs and cut up such capers, that the whole family
of kids began to imitate him by frisking in a circle.
Where, a minute or two before, had been ominous stillness, there had
come, in the twinkling of an eye, a salvo of rejoicing in the animal
world. It was as if the boarders in Noah’s ark had been let loose and
were having a concert. It’s a way the animals have, of showing their
joy, with a kind of music, all their own, which they can make, when the
danger they feared is over and deliverance has come.
There was also a bride, the daughter of the richest man in the dorf,
who was dressing for her wedding. All the other girls of her set were
collecting their old shoes and handfuls of rice, ready to fling after
the young couple’s carriage for good luck.
The bride’s kid boots, ordered from Paris, had cost fourteen dollars.
The mail wagon having arrived, with the letters and the salt, at the
Post Office, had just stopped in front of the bride’s house and handed
out the long waited package. The servant maid was bringing the lovely
white buttoned shoes upstairs, when, along and downward, thundered the
avalanche. According to a way that avalanches have, this one flung off,
at the sides, stones, rocks, gravel, ice and mud. Now, like cannon
balls in a bombardment, one mass of wet snow, not quite so big as a fat
elephant, struck the maid. It knocked her heels over head, sent her
slippers flying, and her feet in the air, until one could see the color
of her stockings, from toe to knees. As for the box from Paris, it was
shot, as out of a gun, into the pig pen. The bride screamed, but nobody
was hurt, and the maid quickly smoothed out her hair and dress, put on
her slippers, and she was soon presentable.
It was weeks after the honeymoon, and return of the couple, that, after
searching up hill and down dale, the remains of what were once a pair
of white kid boots from Paris, were found in the black mire, among the
pigs. Not knowing what it was, the porkers had crushed it under their
hoofs. After trial with their teeth, unable to eat it, or its not
tasting nice, the pigs thought it was not worth a turnip. One piggy,
without chewing, had actually attempted to swallow it. Not finding it
suited to a hog’s diet, the animal had dropped it with a grunt, and
trampled on it. When fished out with the long handled pitchfork, it was
recognized as a Paris shoe, by the two white buttons, which had escaped
the blackening of the mire.
By this time the proceedings of this avalanche, which had started out
to settle quarrels, had become positively frivolous. Wabbling about,
here and there, reeling like a man with a quart of brandy in his
stomach, the mighty ball rolled down the long road, leading into a
larger village.
“Now,” fancied the Frost Giants, that were watching from aloft, “it
surely will uphold the reputation of the family and act like other
avalanches, in turning villages into cemeteries, and farms and
vineyards into deserts.” Vain thought!
This lively chit of an avalanche followed the road, far enough to
tumble, flat into the ditch, some drunken fellows, who had just come
out of the gin house, and were staggering homewards. It was like
ironing out clothes, to see the way that avalanche flattened out those
topers. It left them for hours on the roadside, faces downwards, and
sleeping off their debauch. When they woke up, as out of a cold bath,
they shook off the snow and trudged homeward, only to get, from their
sharp-tongued wives, the scoldings they richly deserved.
Many another adventure did that judicial avalanche have, before it had
scudded past other villages, but hurting next to nothing, avoiding
forests, farmhouses and vineyards, until it reached a glacier, over
which it rolled.
Scratching, cracking, dropping out dirty stuff, rock and gravel, it
acted like a dredge box. It sprinkled out its contents, to fill up the
great deep green crevasses in the ice, until it finally reached a big
open space of waste land, that had nothing on it, but rocks and bushes.
Then, with a roar, as if laughing at itself, it broke up, spread open,
and left the place strewn with more rocks and stones and lumps of ice.
Then a troop of fairies came riding on the hot, dry, south wind. They
blew, with their breath, on the snow mass, and quickly melted it into
the river, so fast, indeed, that men wondered at the high water in the
distant lakes and the rivers in France. In lovely Switzerland, new soil
was made, where today are farms and vineyards. In time, billions of
purple clusters are plucked, and willing tourists are happy, in taking
the grape cure; while they walk over the place where once, a judicially
minded avalanche had laughed so hard, that it burst.